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6
“Come, my dear.”
Masterson held out a shaky hand to assist her out of their carriage.
Georgina stepped down, pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders, wishing she hadn’t worn a gown that bared her shoulders and a great deal of her bosom. But defiance, as well as old habits, were difficult to put aside.
“I’m rather tired, my lord.” She tried once more to get Masterson to return home. The first attempt had been after the gathering at Lord Talbot’s home she’d been forced to attend.
“Pish posh, Georgina.” He slid his eyes over her. “Play a hand of faro or piquet.”
Georgina pulled the thin silk more firmly over her chest. She’d protested leaving the house this evening, claiming a terrible headache, but Masterson had been insistent, turning a deaf ear to her pleas.
Elysium loomed before her, immense, opulent, and enticing as ever, but she was loath to go inside. Her slippers dragged on the gravel as Masterson led her to the door. She was in no mood to face Leo or have him treat her as if she were only another of his patrons. Nor did she wish to see another woman drape herself over his broad-shouldered form. Georgina had been avoiding Elysium becauseshecouldn’t pretend he meant nothing to her.
There was no help for it. Georgina summoned all the steel her spine possessed, tilting her chin and pasting a careless look on her face. She could brave this out. Welles might be here, and he would play faro with her.
Jones, Elysium’s one-armed doorman, and Smith nodded to Georgina as she came through the door. The sound of the gambling hell struck her first, the low hum punctuated by shouts and curses. The sea of black from the gentleman’s evening wear with flashes of color from the gowns of those few ladies in attendance.
Discreetly, she snuck a look up at the second-floor landing, but there was no sign of Leo.
Taking a deep breath, Georgina dropped Masterson’s arm with a nod. “I’m headed to the faro table.” Tonight required bourbon. After telling Leo several months after they’d first met of her affection for bourbon whiskey, he’d surprised her by saying he happened to have some on hand. A mix-up with the merchant who kept Elysium stocked with spirits. The bourbon sat gathering dust because no one ever requested it. But now she had. A lucky coincidence.
Leo had also had bourbon in his office that night, though he preferred scotch as a rule.
He’d known she would come to him about the marker. And Beechwood Court.
Masterson didn’t say a word as he went in search of his own pleasures. He must have one of his barristers or footmen meeting him on the second floor. He was hardly in a position to request another line of credit from Leo.
She settled down on a stool, smiling at Larkin, who was tending to the faro table as usual. Georgina studied her cards as a glass of bourbon appeared next to her, along with a large, masculine form.
Her heart paused before she raised her head, thinking for a moment it was Leo.
The coat of indigo was finely made, so dark as to be nearly black. But the waistcoat was plain. The snowy white cravat neatly tied. Welles needed little adornment—a fact he was well aware of.
“Lady Masterson.” He smiled down at her. “Where have you been?” He nudged the glass of bourbon in her direction. “Bourbon?”
“Thank you.” Her fingers curled around the glass, nodding at him as she took a sip. “I’ve been busy. I’m renovating Beechwood Court. The gardens are being redrawn. The folly rebuilt. And there is a leak in the roof.”
Georgina was determined to continue to bring Beechwood Court back to life. She meant to keep working on the estate until one of Leo’s solicitors arrived on her doorstep and told her to stop. There was little else to do with her time.
“Very industrious of you, Georgina.” Welles brushed back a dark wave of hair from his forehead. Two women over his shoulder were staring, struck dumb by his brilliance.
Georgina looked back at the green baize of the table, littered with chips. He looked very much like Leo, or rather Leo resembled him. The sight of Welles was more difficult than she’d supposed. “Are you playing tonight?”
“Always.” He nudged her in familiar fashion with his shoulder. Welles flirted casually with her, but there was never any true intent in his manner. He was purported to be a rake, though he never behaved improperly with her.
“My lord, we are friends, are we not?”
“We absolutely are.” He leaned closer. “But I reserve the right to admire your bosom on occasion.”
“Granted.” She smiled and took a sip of her bourbon. “Why have you never made advances at me?”
Welles sat back, surprised by her question. “You’d throw a punch, as you did to that lord.” He snapped his fingers. “I can’t recall his name. Braden? Broward?”
“Browden,” she answered. “There isn’t any need to worry. I’m not enamored of you as every woman in London is, I’m merely curious.”
He snorted. “I should be insulted. I suppose I haven’t because I don’t care for fistfights. Goodness, Georgina. I just told you I meant to admire your bosom.”
